Page 41 of The Secret Dinner

4

I retreated to my room and picked out some clothes. The bathroom floor was wet, a crumpled towel lay like a tongue across the toilet, and the shower door was still fogged: all signs that Piglet had just left. I got into the shower but couldn’t shake the image of the old woman. Regardless of how much I scrubbed, I couldn’t get clean. The dirtiness was inside. I lathered up, rinsed off, and got dressed with that image still burning behind my eyes.

When I went back to the living room, a shapeless thing was attached to the hooks, red and resembling a leg of beef. There was no longer anything human about it, just a suspended mass of flesh and bone without skin or a head. As she dismantled it, Cora said, “I think you’ll be able to use a lot of it.”

I nodded quietly and turned toward the front door, when I saw the woman’s head on the coffee table, adjacent to a statue of the Virgin Mary that my mother had gifted us years before. Even with her eyelids closed, she was staring right at me.

“What the fuck?”

“Oh, I left it there to remind me to ask later,” said Cora, lowering one of the ropes. “Do you know if Hugo is planning on doing something with the head?”

“Something?”

“Some people like to roast the cow head to eat the brains. Or fry the brains. It’s really tasty.”

“We’re not going to do anything with the head.”

She shrugged. “Okay, bring it over here, then. Just grab it by the hair.”

“I’ve gotta go.”

I quickly bolted out the door and desperately pressed the elevator button. In the excruciating seconds before it arrived, I fought to slow my breath and swallowed the vomit rising in my throat.

5

Once, on the wall of a public restroom, I saw a poem:

LESS LOVE

MORE GANG BANG

The clerk at the housewares store was a smiley, good-looking guy. His demeanor fell somewhere between affected and blasé, which I found abnormally attractive: his slender body, twinkish face, and empty head.

“Do you have tablecloths?”

“Linen or silk?” he asked as he led me down the aisle.

His curious blue eyes wandered over me, studying my clothes, my shoes, my skin. He was trying to categorize me, this young man who’d come in on a Thursday afternoon looking to buy dinnerware. He needed to know more about me before he could decide whether to flirt or just assist me. Our tour through the store was like flirting on layaway. With each product I bought, I moved forward one space. I asked for crystal wineglasses and he smiled, saying he’d set some aside. I asked for porcelain plates, and he giggled, saying he’d go look in the back. I asked for the plates to be paired with stainless-steel cloches, and he beamed, saying that a cloche was very chic and chic suited me. When I went to the cash register to pay, I asked for his number and he handed me a slip of paper from his pocket with it already written out.

I deliberated over the items, scrimping and saving as much as I could, while still valuing the presentation. I skipped the tablecloth and ornate spoons for nicer plates and cloches. I prayed my credit card would go through and asked to pay the total in ten interest-free installments. I walked out, bags in hand, feeling powerful.

Back home, the world had turned upside down. Miguel was home from his shift, still in scrubs that smelled like the hospital, arguing with Hugo and Piglet in the kitchen. When he saw me come in, he took off his glasses and started chewing nervously on the temple tip. He waved a sheet of paper in my face. I took it from his hands so I could read it. It was a special summons for police questioning, addressed to all hospital employees.

“You’re just another resident who was on call,” I said. “There’s no reason for anyone to suspect you.”

“I helped! You all forced me!”

He sat on the stool and buried his head in his arms. Before I could say anything, Cora appeared in the kitchen, covered in blood. It was everywhere: her arms, legs, face. Like a scene out of Carrie. She left a cut of meat with the bone sticking out on the counter and wagged her finger at Miguel, scolding him like a spoiled child.

“Stop it. You’re disrupting my work!”

Hugo pushed aside the meat on the kitchen counter. “What’s that?” he asked grudgingly.

“It’s the lumbar vertebra. T-bone. Do you think that’ll do?”

“I hope so.”

“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to understand.